


The Things We Do Not Say

by monopolizeme



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort, M/M, forming a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monopolizeme/pseuds/monopolizeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek doesn’t talk about the way Stiles breathes sometimes, like it hurts, like he is carrying around everybody’s weight and doesn’t want anyone to know. Stiles doesn’t bring it up when Derek rests his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, fingers a soft press into the stiffened muscles, the way he eases his palms down, dragging that burdensome weight from Stiles’ bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Do Not Say

_I closed my mouth_  
 _and spoke to you_  
 _in a hundred silent_  
 _ways._  
\-- Rumi

 

They never talk about it, the way things changed, around them, between them – as if the world had suddenly narrowed to something small and quiet, pushing them together with no air to breathe but each other’s. Stiles reaches out and touches Derek and for once he doesn’t pull away. Stiles seems to take that as some silent admission of  _yes_  and then the world becomes a little smaller still, and Derek is left with a boy who refuses to leave. 

They do not talk about the way Stiles is suddenly always  _there_ , sitting on the porch in the afternoon or at the bottom of the stairway or on the dusty dank bench at the abandoned train depot. They do not talk about the way Stiles kind of just invites himself into Derek’s life, like he had always belonged there. Derek doesn’t talk about the fact that Stiles makes it a point to end up wherever Derek is, despite Derek’s erratic choices at sleeping in whatever location he pleases, without telling Stiles, so that Stiles has to make a wild guess and if he fails ends up driving to the  _next_  place and the next place after that.  

It becomes a little more of a gamble when Derek finally purchases the loft; Stiles now has a less than fifty percent chance at guessing correctly. But he never bitches to Derek when he finally gets it right – after having driven to the house or the depot or the loft uselessly. Derek never speaks about the way Stiles’ eyes are always so bright when he arrives, the way his voice pitches with pride when he exclaims  _I found you!_  and curls his arms around Derek’s waist, making the proclamation seem so much  _more_  than a simple statement. Derek doesn’t comment at the way Stiles holds him like he is something sharp-edged and dangerous and yet  _precious_ , despite all the precarious angles. 

Derek doesn’t talk about the way Stiles breathes sometimes, like it hurts, like he is carrying around everybody’s weight and doesn’t want anyone to know. Stiles doesn’t bring it up when Derek rests his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, fingers a soft press into the stiffened muscles, the way he eases his palms  _down_ , dragging that burdensome weight from Stiles’ bones. Stiles doesn’t ask  _why_ , doesn’t ask why Derek would want to take such heavy discomfort and tuck it against the insides of his palms, between his own shoulders, which are so much stronger and bigger than Stiles’ but still even then, they do not deserve the troubles that belong to Stiles. 

They do not talk about the way Derek’s fingers linger upon the moles on Stiles’ skin, as if memorizing their location or imprinting important memory upon each one. Stiles doesn’t admit how the rough pads of Derek’s fingers make his skin leap at the contact, or how those patches of skin where the black dots are clustered together are overly sensitive to Derek’s touch. 

Derek doesn’t question when he wakes to Stiles against him, mouth damp against his throat, breathing softly, breathing easily, like Derek isn’t capable of breaking him if he wanted to. 

Stiles doesn’t talk about the way Derek likes to sleep with his hand curled gently beneath Stiles’ jaw, thumb a gentle pressure against the underside of his chin. He doesn’t mention the way Derek looks at him sometimes, when he thinks that Stiles can not see, stares at Stiles like he isn’t real or is too fragile or something that hurts to be near. 

Stiles doesn’t repeat what Derek had said to him that one time, when he shoved Stiles away and Stiles hit the floor and ended up with bruised wrists, all mottled black and yellow. He doesn’t remind Derek of how broken his voice sounded when he told Stiles _, I’ll ruin you_ ; the way Derek’s lungs struggled like they were filled with wolfsbane when he choked out the words. 

Derek doesn’t tell anyone that Stiles trembles when he is alone, when he thinks that there is no one else in the room with him. Derek doesn’t talk about the way Stiles holds his breath before turning on the light in a dark room, as if he is terrified of what might be revealed when the light appears. 

Stiles keeps it a secret that Derek’s skin tastes like guilt and regret and only when Derek comes does his face look like the years have finally been stripped away, that in that quiet fraction of time he looks young and vulnerable. Stiles keeps it to himself that Derek makes him feel like Stiles could hold him in the folds of his skin and tuck Derek away in the bend of his elbows and between his ribs, that Stiles could save him, that Stiles could be the one to keep Derek  _safe_. 

Stiles doesn’t tell anyone what Derek’s voice had sounded like when he said the words,  _I love you_ , whispered against Stiles’ ear, hand a trembling presence over Stiles’ waist. Stiles never tells anyone what Derek’s open mouth had felt like on his own, all earnest hope and tension and a little bit of fear. 

Derek doesn’t mention the way Stiles had smiled into his neck, the little noise that he had made when Derek eased his mouth against Stiles’ temple and asked,  _yeah?_

Stiles will never tell anyone the way his heart shook in his chest when he pushed into Derek’s weight and replied,  _yeah, me too_. 

**Author's Note:**

> The graphic to accompany this can be found [here](http://mydearsourwolf.tumblr.com/post/45044828445/they-never-talk-about-it-the-way-things-changed). Thank you kindly for reading. :)


End file.
